


and still my heart has wings

by allandmore99



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, House Husband Booker, Married Life, Married Sex, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allandmore99/pseuds/allandmore99
Summary: Booker is a good house husband and comes to visit publishing executive Nile on her lunch break.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92





	and still my heart has wings

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I might as well post some of my kink meme fills here! This was for the Nile/Booker office sex prompt, here: https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5552.html?thread=1940912#cmt1940912.

“Ms Freeman?” Julia called, rolling her eyes as Nile didn’t even look up from the manuscript she was editing, completely focused. “Ms Freeman,” she said, a little louder, teasing with the familiarity that came from having been Nile’s executive assistant for years. “Your house husband is here to see you,” she sing-songed, and, well, that got Nile’s attention.

She looked up to give Booker a small smile, chewing on the cap of her pen, and he was struck for the millionth time by how much he loved this woman. “Hi, Book,” she said, and his cheeks heated up already with the fondness in her voice. “Hi yourself, Ms Freeman,” he teased back, and Julia backed away slowly. “I’m shutting the door very, very well,” she told them, laughing as she closed it firmly. “Have a good lunch, Ms Freeman!”

“I just have to finish this last bit of the chapter, if that’s okay,” Nile told him, and he nodded, sitting on the chair next to her swivel chair and nudging at her legs. She knew immediately what he wanted, and turned the chair just enough that she could slide her feet into his lap. He left her heels on, at first, and just started stroking lightly down her ankles and the tops of her feet, then carefully slid one shoe off at a time, rubbing at her sore toes and at the balls of her feet, savouring her sighs as she typed away. “You spoil me, baby,” she murmured, but other than that she seemed entirely focused on her work, until finally she pushed the keyboard away and swivelled around to face him. 

“So patient, my love,” she praised, taking one of his hands in hers, and he bent to kiss her knuckles. “I have nothing but time,” he remarked with a grin. “Unlike my wife, the important executive,” and just for that, she hooked her legs around his thighs and pulled herself closer to him. “You, my husband—“ and it still gave her a thrill to say that, since they had only been married for about six months—“have a much more important job, which is taking care of Emeline.”

Booker had been an art historian when they met, an expert which Nile’s friend Joe recommended that she consult to verify a few details in the exhibition catalogue she was editing at the time. He had been a little gruff, a lot charming, and a widower with two teenage sons, not quite sure what he was doing with his life. He had been headed fast for a mid-life crisis, but instead he fell head over heels for Nile, and when she got pregnant with their daughter—an accident, they freely admitted, but an extremely welcome one—he jumped at the chance to quit his job and stay home with their baby. Emeline was now nearly three and almost ready for preschool, but Booker hadn’t made any noises about going back to work, and Nile hadn’t brought it up either, until finally she had asked him one early morning while they were laying in bed, just a few weeks before, if he wanted to try and have another child, and, well. She barely made it into work that day.

“Ah,” Booker sighed, mock wounded. “Emeline no longer cares about me, I’ve been supplanted in her heart. Ever since Jean-Pierre got out of school for the summer and started babysitting her, she only has eyes for him. To be abandoned for my own son,” he complained, the corner of his mouth tilting up as he fought not to laugh, and Nile couldn’t take it anymore, she climbed into his lap, laughing as she bent to knock their foreheads together. “I love you, Sébastien,” she whispered, and the sweetness in her voice was laced with heat. 

“I love you too, my heart,” he murmured, his voice a little rough, and he surged forward to kiss her, hands sliding up to rest on the outside of her thighs, just beneath the hem of her skirt. “Fuck, I love you so much,” he repeated, and then before she realised it, he was standing up with her still in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he was gently laying her down on top of her desk, carefully avoiding the papers and things that she had sitting there.

He backed away for a moment once he had her laid out on the desk, watched as her chest rose and fell rapidly in her blouse, her legs just slightly parted, and his breath caught. “Stunning,” he whispered, and then he bent to press a kiss to her knee and she squirmed, knowing that he was about to lavish her with attention. He had always had an unerring ability to find all the sensitive spots on her body, and she panted as he nuzzled the back of her knee, as he sucked a mark into her thigh, high enough that her skirt would cover it, as he nipped at the skin of her other leg, hitching her skirt higher and higher. “Bas, please,” she gasped out, not too proud to beg, and he took pity on her, as he always did. Carefully, he peeled her panties down, pulling them down around her knees, and laid a palm on her right leg, pushing it to the side, and she would never quite get over this, that first moment of vulnerability when she was bare before his hungry gaze. 

She would never quite get over the first swipe of his tongue, either, how it sent a full body shiver through her, or how eager he was, like he could spend all day with his head buried between her thighs. “Book,” she whined, trying desperately to keep quiet just in case the office walls weren’t as soundproof as the contractors had claimed, but she couldn’t really help making noise, not when he was licking into her like he was starving. “Oh god, Book, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging little half-moons into her palms as he methodically opened her up with his tongue, lapping up her wetness and doing something that never failed to drive her crazy where he curled his tongue just so and sent a shock of pleasure through her, as sudden and overwhelming as if she’d been electrocuted. 

She tangled one hand in his hair, groaning as he looked up at her with those soulful eyes, his mouth never leaving her for a moment. “Your hair is getting long again, baby,” she commented, tugging lightly on the strands. “I like it, gives me something to hold onto,” and she scratched a bit at his scalp as he did his best to take her apart. With her other hand, she shakily undid the top few buttons of her blouse, feeling faintly overheated, and cupped one of her breasts, rubbing her fingers over her nipple through her red lace bra. She missed breastfeeding Emeline a bit—and she knew that Sébastien missed getting his mouth on her there and lapping at a stray bead of milk—but it had been nice getting to wear some less practical lingerie again, she mused, and then a moment later she wasn’t thinking much at all because her husband sucked her clit into his mouth and hummed at the same time as he slid two fingers inside her, and she positively yelped. 

“Fuck, Sébastien,” she cursed, unable to stop the moans and whimpers as he crooked his fingers and his tongue swiped over her clit again and again, little licks that left her feeling feverish. “Oh God, Book, so good, so good baby, going to come,” she gasped out and brought both hands to his head, pressing him against her hard for a moment before she came with a cry, grinding against his face, his fingers falling out of her as she rode out her climax against his lips.

She barely took a moment to calm down, was still trembling, but she knew what she wanted, and she scooted forward on the desk, half sitting up as she frantically fumbled with his belt, finally getting it undone and zipping his pants. “Fuck me, Bas, come on,” she urged, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs and stroking him a few times. “Please, my love,” and while her begging was enticing, he didn’t exactly need much encouragement. His hands slid up to her hips, her skirt hiked up to her waist, and with a groan he sheathed himself in her. 

“You’re soaked, ma chérie,” he said, a little in awe, and groaned at the obscene slick sound as he pulled almost all the way out and then thrust back in. It was a good angle, with him standing and her laying on the desk, her legs twined around his waist; it let him thrust in deep and quickly work up a fast pace. He had never been able to last long with her, had been embarrassed about it early in their relationship before she confessed that she didn’t mind, that it flattered her, even. He didn’t care, anymore; when he fucked her, he chased his own orgasm, losing himself to the pleasure, and if he came before she did, then he would spend as long as he needed afterwards working her over with his fingers and tongue, making sure that she was more than satisfied.

“Ah, you feel so good, my heart,” he praised, his balls slapping against her as he sped up his thrusts. “Just a little more,” he promised, and brought a hand down to where they were joined, rubbing at her to earn her little gasps and moans, and when he felt her clench around him he let go as well, spilling inside her with a wounded cry.

After they had caught their breath a little bit, Nile patted Booker’s thigh and he dutifully pulled out, tucking himself back in with a soft groan and bending down to kiss her once more. “I could tell you a thousand times how much I love you,” he whispered, and she laughed, bright and cheerful. “You must have told me many times more than that, Book, but I never mind hearing it again,” and she hopped off the desk to go into the little bathroom attached to her office to try and set herself a bit to rights so it wouldn’t be even more obvious to her colleagues what they had been up to than it already would be.

“Do you have time to eat, mon coeur?” He called after her. “I brought sandwiches from that one deli you like,” he enticed, and that drew her back into the room, her blouse buttoned up again and tucked back in and her makeup fixed. “My next meeting isn’t until 2, but anyway, I would always make time for you. And for those sandwiches,” she added with a wink, and they settled back into their favourite position, her with her feet up in his lap as he unwrapped the sandwiches and handed her a little bottle of lemonade.

“So,” she asked after taking a few bites, “where is Emeline today?” It was a sign of the tremendous trust that she had in Booker’s son, he knew, that she hadn’t asked until then, because Nile was as protective of her daughter as anything. “Oh, Jean-Pierre had a whole day planned,” Booker answered with a smile. “First he was going to take her for pancakes—with lots of chocolate chips, Emeline told me this morning—then to the aquarium, then he was determined that she was going to need a nap—“ “Sugar crash from all those chocolate chips,” Nile agreed sagely—“then there was something about feeding the ducks in some park and he was going to bring a picnic.” 

Nile smiled approvingly. “He’s good with her,” she remarked. “I’m glad that he decided to stay at home this summer, it’s nice for Emeline to get to know her brother a little better.” Booker nodded, taking a swig of his Orangina. “He adores her,” he agreed. “And I don’t know if you remember, Étienne—“ but his wife, always on top of things, was already nodding. “He comes back next Thursday, right? I already marked it on my calendar to take the afternoon off so we can all go together to get him from St Pancras, maybe go somewhere nice for dinner.” Booker had moved to London after his wife died, wanting a change of scenery from the Parisian streets where they had fallen in love and raised their family, but he wasn’t surprised that his older son, Étienne, had decided to go back across the Channel for university. He still missed his firstborn though, and savoured the times when Étienne would come back to visit.

He was so grateful that Nile loved and trusted his sons almost as much he did, and that they had allowed her into their lives. He had worried, so much, after he met Nile and had started falling for her . He had worried that they would think it was too soon after their mother had died, though it had already been four years at that point, four years of misery and loneliness, barely keeping his head above water and only keeping it together for his boys. He had worried that it would be especially strange for them to see him with a younger woman, one who was barely ten years older than Étienne. He had been particularly concerned about how they would take the news of Nile’s surprise pregnancy, but they had just hugged him and told him how good it was to see him happy again, and when a very pregnant Nile had hesitantly suggested at the dinner table that, well, since they knew it was a girl, maybe it would be nice to name her after Booker’s first wife, it was clear to everyone that she had become a true part of their little family.

Emeline, of course, had completely won them over, and Booker was proud of how sweet his sons were with his little princess. Where some teenage boys wouldn’t be caught dead babysitting their little sister on a Friday night, Booker’s boys had always given her extra attention. Even after Étienne went to school in Paris, he still called her all the time on FaceTime to read her a story before bed, or sent her postcards and little gifts in the mail. He had even promised her that when she was just a little older, he would take her to Paris, just the two of them, and show her all the places that he had told her about and sent her pictures of. 

Nile finished her sandwich and sighed softly, taking her feet out of Booker’s lap and putting her heels back on. “Back to work?” He asked ruefully, taking care of the trash. “Unfortunately,” she murmured, and pulled him down for a kiss. “But thank you for a very delicious lunch break, my love,” and he kissed her back thoroughly enough that if she hadn’t had a meeting in a few minutes, she would have been in danger of pulling him back onto the table. “Don’t tempt me, mon coeur,” she whispered against his lips, and forced herself to pull away. “Remember, we have Quynh’s birthday tonight at the pub,” she reminded him. “I left her present on the table at home, but she’s also been dropping some not so subtle hints about how she would like some birthday flowers, and Andy clearly hasn’t been picking up on them, so if you could stop by the florist on your way that would be great.” He nodded, mentally making a note of the various errands he needed to do. “The Prospect of Whitby, right?” He asked. It was an old favourite of theirs, and the little beach made it easy to bring the kids along and let Jean-Pierre, still six months shy of being able to have a pint, and Emeline play together down on the banks of the river. She nodded, pulling up the manuscript she had been working on again and offering him a parting smile. “I’ll see you at 7, my love,” and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he left. “I will count down the minutes, ma chérie.”


End file.
